The Legacy of Gird (133 page)

At that moment a cold current of air coiled around Luap's shoulders and down his neck. He shivered, then recovered. "Cob—you've not been in mountains before. The night air's colder than you think, and at the turn of night it feels colder than steel. More than once when we first came, one of us thought something dire had passed, but we came to realize it was only the cold. The night may be still when the sun falls, but later on, these movements of air come, as if they were alive. But nothing more."

"Huh." Cob's head, in the starlight, looked frosted; Luap could not see his expression. "Well. If you're sure. But you might have a word with your sentries, just in case."

Luap groaned inwardly. Get out of his warm blankets to rouse sentries to watch for nothing? But nothing less would satisfy Cob, and after all, the sentries were supposed to be awake. He nodded, pushed the blankets aside, shivering again at the cold. "I'll stir them up. If nothing else, all these horses might draw a wildcat." Cob rolled himself back in his blankets, and Luap headed for the sentry posts.

Cold, clear air chilled his face, his hands; when he breathed, his chest felt bathed in ice. Even under the pines, starlight trickled through; beyond the trees, he could see a silvery glow over the silent land. A horse stamped, in the picket lines, and another was grinding its teeth steadily. Luap heard nothing he should not hear, and nearly fell over one sleeping sentry in the speckled shade.

He shook the man awake. "Wha—what's wrong?" It was Jeris, one of the youngest he had brought with him.

"You're supposed to be standing guard," Luap said. "Marshal Cob got up to use the jacks and found you all asleep."

"I—I'm sorry." In the dark, he couldn't see Jeris's face, but the voice sounded worried and contrite enough. "There was nothing—and it was so quiet—and . . . and cold, and . . ."

"I understand, Jeris, but with all these horses we must worry about wildcats or wolves. We haven't cleared this plateau, you know."

"Yes, my lord." The words came smoothly; in the dark, off guard, Luap suddenly realized how that would sound to Cob and the others.

"Don't say that," he said sharply. "They don't use that anymore. Just call me Luap, or sir, if you must."

"But my—but, sir, it's not respectful—"

"Respect includes doing what I ask, doesn't it? Don't use 'my lord' while our guests are here. It will upset them." And would Jeris remember? And remembering, would he obey? Or would he, in the spirit of youthful investigation, ask Cob why it would upset them? Luap shook his head and moved to the next post. Sure enough, all the sentries were asleep, and as he went from post to post, Luap himself began to feel a vague unease. Wouldn't
one
have stayed awake? Wouldn't one of them have wakened at the turn of night to use the jacks, as Cob had? For that matter, why were all the travelers sleeping so soundly?

But he could not hold that anxiety when he got back to the clearing; he wrapped himself again in his blankets, finding to his dismay that none of his body warmth remained, and was asleep before he realized it. He woke at the sound of the cooks working about the fire; half the travelers were out of their blankets already. For a moment or two, he lay quietly, trying to remember what had bothered him in the night, but he couldn't. It was a morning as clear as the day before, too beautiful for dark thoughts.

They started early, before the sun could strike heat from the rock. Down from the pines, into a narrow rocky defile. When they came around a knob to see the little tributary canyon below them, Cob drew rein. "So that's your future pastureland. You're right: it's perfect. There's even water."

"And quicksand," Luap said. "But we'll work that out. Be sure you follow the stakes."

Down the length of that little valley, so oddly shaped with its nearly level floor and its vertical walls. Then up again, into the morning sun, to climb around the rockfall, back into the shadow of the main canyon.

Luap led the way down that steep slope, uneasily aware that the signs of magic in use were all about them, plain to be seen if any of the visitors wanted to notice. Would they? Would they know what those smoothly carven walls meant? Would they realize that the natural canyon had not been blocked by natural falls of stone, filled with natural fertile terraces ready for planting? Cob knew, of course; he had explained it all to Cob. And the Council of Marshals knew, in theory—he had come out here to train the mageborn in the right use of their powers. But he knew they had no idea what that really meant, and the common yeomen in this group would never have seen magery used in all their lives. How would they react? In his mind's eye lay the image of this land as he and Gird had first seen it . . . he could still hear Gird's dismissive "not farm land." Now each crop gave its own shade of green, its own texture, to the terraces; smooth green fans of grain, bordered by rougher, darker bushes yielding berries and nuts, a ruffle of greens and redroot vines. The fruit trees, just coming into bearing. . . .

"I thought Gird said this was no good for farming," said Cob, just behind him.

"We worked hard on it," said Luap.

"Mmm. You must have. You couldn't have taken this much soil, not through that little cave. Two sacks, is what I know you took."

"No, we didn't." He left that lying, and hoped Cob would do the same.

"Magery, I suppose," Cob said, and spat. "Well. It's what you came for, after all, isn't it? A place for the magefolk to do their magery without upsetting anyone?"

Even from Cob he had not expected that quick analysis and calm acceptance. Luap nodded. "Yes—although we had peace in mind more than magery to start with. And here it can't be used against anyone."

Cob peered up at the canyon walls. "No—unless enemies come upon you, which doesn't seem likely. The horsefolk don't come within hands of days of here, and who else could there be? Have you found any folk at all?"

"West of these mountains is flat land, with a caravan trail and a town—Dirgizh—that's a waystation for a folk called the Khartazh. They have a king somewhere north. They don't come into these mountains; they claim they're haunted by evil spirits."

Cob snorted. "Whatever you are, you're not evil spirits—unless they mean whoever was here before you and carved your original hall."

"I doubt it's either," Luap said. "Until we smoothed the trail, it was difficult for people, and impossible for horses. Robbers laired in the mountains just east of the trade trail and preyed on travellers; I think the king's men just didn't want to worry with 'em. It's easier to say mountains are haunted than to admit they're too rough for your taste."

"That's so. Like a junior yeoman I had in my grange back east, who was sure some mageborn had magicked his hauk. He could not believe he was really that clumsy and weak. It took me three years to convince him that he was his own curse. Speaking of that, how's young Aris?"

"Curse? Aris?"

"No, I'm sorry. He's his own blessing, I was thinking, unlike Tam back home. Are he and Seri still like vine and pole?"

Luap grinned. "Yes, but not married. You'd think they were still children."

"It may be best. Seri's not one to mother only her own children. What does she do?"

"She's our Marshal: insists on drill, cleaned those robbers out of the mountains between us and the trade route, set up guardposts—"

"Good for her." Cob's horse slid a little and he grunted. "You couldn't get out of here in a hurry, could you? Going up must be slower."

"That's one reason we'd like to keep some horses in that upper valley," Luap said. "Every time we take a party up and down this trail, we have to rebuild it. Foot traffic's not so hard on it; if we could climb up then ride out, that would help."

"The merchanters we travelled with kept going west and south; they say there's another trade route that way . . . and they've always wanted a shortcut. Do you think your—Khartazh, was it?—are on the other end of their road?"

"Oh yes. They talk about a time—probably before we were born—when caravans went east to Fintha every year. As near as I can tell, that trade declined after the fall of Old Aare, and stopped almost completely after the war started. If that trade resumes—and I hope it will—I would like to see caravans here; it would be a shortcut for them, and good for us. That's why we built the trail you climbed up, from the lower plain; I hoped to bring in caravans. But the trails are so rugged, maintaining them would be difficult."

Now they were off the last switchback of the trail, into the pines. He watched as Cob drew a deep breath. "Ah—this is better. Some shade for my face, a cool breeze." Here, two horses could go abreast; Luap reined in to let Cob come up beside him. "This is the last time I make this trip, mind. You can travel the mageroad with no more trouble than walking out of a room; I'm not blistering my old skin again just to see you."

"I'll take you back the mageroad, if you wish," Luap said.

"We'll see," said Cob, eyeing the green terraces, the flowering bushes, the berries, "Maybe I'll just stay here and live off your mercy."

Luap pointed. "Up there—that's one of the lookout posts Seri had us build." Cob squinted upward, blinking against brilliant light.

"Good to see out of, but cold in winter, I'd think. And if a wind blows—"

"No one's fallen off yet." Luap enjoyed Cob's awestruck look. He liked knowing he'd surprised the man; he heard the murmurs from those behind with the same pleasure.

It was just on midday when Luap turned across the stream to the sunny side of the canyon; the walls seemed to shimmer in the light as if painted on silk. The little arched bridge, so delicate against the massive rock walls, rang to the horses' hooves. Cob stared at the narrow cleft of the side-canyon as if he could not believe it. "We're going in there?"

"Yes. It's not all a tumble of rocks; there's a trail." Again in single file, they rode up, into the cleft with its hidden pockets of old trees. The lower entrance stood open, as always in good weather. One of Seri's junior yeomen stood guard beside it, proudly aware of his good fortune.

"Go in and tell them the caravan's come safely," Luap said. "We'll need help with the horses."

"Yes, Luap," said the boy; Luap was glad for once that Seri's young trainees tended to scamp the courtesies. He slid off his horse, and took Cob's reins.

"Here—go on in and let Aris put a salve on your face if he can't heal it. I'll water your beast."

"I'm all right, here in the shade." Cob leaned against the rock, watching the others come up, and Luap handed the reins of both horses to one of his people who had come running out. That one did murmur "my lord" as he took the horses away; Luap hoped Cob hadn't heard it. Another appeared with a tray and tall cups of water slightly flavored with an aromatic fruit from Khartazh. Luap handed one to Cob, who was looking up at the great pines, around at the rock walls. "I wouldn't have believed it without seeing it, that's certain. And how you've managed to raise food in it—that's another wonder. Gird would have been proud of you, Luap." He sipped the drink, then smiled and emptied the cup. The servant took it and refilled it.

"I'm glad you think so." He wondered if Cob would still think that way when he'd seen how comfortable a life he and his people had achieved in so few years.

"Luap . . . I'm not here to check up on you." Cob's shrewd glance widened to a grin as Luap felt his face burning. "There—you see? You
did
think I would act as the Marshal-General's spy."

"Sorry," Luap muttered. So he had heard the servant's words.

"You should be! When have I ever agreed with him? No, if you and your folk are happy out here, and living comfortably and at peace, this is what I hoped to see. And if you transgress some one of the Marshal-General's many little rules, he won't find out from my report—not that he could do anything if he did. You're growing your own food; you're not taking anything from the granges any more."

"I see him when I report," Luap said. "I suppose I've come to think of you—of the others—as mostly like him."

"We're not. At least, not all of us. So settle down, will you, and quit looking so nervous. If you're playing prince out here, and all your people kiss your feet, it's your business. I won't, but if they want to, they can."

Luap forced a chuckle. If only he could believe that—but Cob, he knew, would not lie. Perhaps he did have a friend in this sunburnt old peasant. "I confess, then, to allowing more deference than I would have in Fin Panir."

"Deference! Is that what you call it?"

Luap shrugged. "If you mean showing respect—"

"For rank and not for deeds. Yes. Although I suppose you have shown them deeds enough, out here, even if those deeds were magery." Cob nodded to the growing cluster of Girdish riders now dismounting and milling about the stronghold entrance. "We're making a tangle here—where would you have us go?"

"Which is greater, fatigue or curiosity?" Luap countered. "We have guest chambers, of course, and bathing chambers to wash off the trail grime. Or you can begin with food. Or you can let us drag you all over, showing off."

"I must admit food sounds good," Cob said. "I want to see that grand hall you told us about, but then food . . . and that lot had better start with something to eat." He beckoned to a younger man. "You may remember Vrelan, my yeoman-marshal."

"I do indeed," Luap said, smiling. Vrelan looked old for a yeoman-marshal now, and he wore the blue tunic of a Marshal.

Cob nodded. "Yes, he's Marshal Vrelan—just finished his training this last winter. We're finally training Marshals faster than establishing new granges, so we old ones can have replacements and the younger ones can get experience before taking on a whole grange. Considering my age and failing health—" by the tone of this voice, he was quoting someone he did not like, "—the Council decided that a younger Marshal should come along to report on your settlement. The Marshal-General would have sent Binis—"

Luap almost choked. Cob was grinning broadly.

"I thought that would get your attention. But I insisted on Vrelan, for his expertise in horsemanship and wilderness travel; Binis still rides like a sack of redroots." He cleared his throat and spat.